


La Route Qu'ils Créent | The Road They Create

by writingforlaurens (FreckledSkittles)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, More ships and characters to come, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Build, like super slow i mean this starts in kindergarten, losers - Freeform, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/writingforlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of two men. One is Alexander Hamilton, an immigrant bastard whose mother brought him to America for a life that wishes for riches but settles for survival. The other is John Laurens, a freckled heir to more money to his family's name than he could ever count. They meet many times throughout their shared lives, but it is the first that sets the spark. The two men will evolve in many stages: best friends since their youngest years, lab partners in their teens, heartbroken lovers in college, and satisfied newlyweds when they finally complete adulthood.</p>
<p>Every road has a beginning, and every road has an end. This is the road that they created.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kindergarten

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like Lams.
> 
> There's a lot to this road: a lot of characters, a lot of heartache, a lot of happiness. I don't really know how long this is gonna be. I'm just gonna sorta wing it and hope it goes somewhere basically.

John Laurens is five years old. He likes turtles and candy with coconuts. He has a display of freckles on his cheeks and his forehead, his hands and his belly. When he gets bored, he tries to connect the dots on any available skin with a marker. He wishes for a friend, because his brothers are too young for him to play with. He wants to have adventures against evil, scuba dive for dolphins to play with, find dinosaurs and bring them back to life—his imagination is endless, and he needs someone to test it. His parents' friends have children who do not want to play with him. It may be because he once pushed one off a seesaw because that was "my seat", but he can't remember doing such a thing.

John Laurens is five years old when he meets Alexander Hamilton.

Alexander is the new kid, a shy boy who didn't talk and sat on a swing and kicked the pieces of tarp on the ground beneath him. He was exotic to John because the teacher said he was from a place called St. Croix and Nevis, and John had never heard of such a place before. And no one else, it seemed like, was going to talk to him, so he makes his way over to Alexander and plops down in front of him.

"I'm John Laurens," he introduces himself. He remembers his mother's reminder of good manners and being polite to new people.

Alexander says nothing. A piece of the black tarp flies into John's lap.

"Do you wanna play pretend with me?"

Alexander looks up at him. His eyes are very dark, like shining pieces of coal.

John stands up and grabs his hands, and pulls him off of the swing set. The new kid is nervous, his hands tightening inside his.

"What do you wanna do?" John asks. He keeps their hands held, and swings them lightly back and forth while he waits for an answer.

Alexander, after his moment of quiet, speaks up in a soft voice. "Dinosaurs."

"Cool! What's your favorite?"

"Triceratops." This time, there is a little more eagerness behind his words. John seems to be encouraging him, coaxing him out of his shell. He was like a turtle, shut in from others until provoked, and then he was gradually let out into the open. "They have three horns, and they can be nice until they get mean."

John hops in place with unmatched enthusiasm, and Alexander is taken aback by the spring in his step. "That's my favorite too!" He releases one hand so that he can pull him along with the other. "Come on, let's go find some! I think they're hiding!"

They spend the rest of recess trying to search for the dinosaur, though to no avail. When they go back inside for naptime, they put their mats next to one another and end up talking throughout the entirety of it.

x-x-x

When the leaves start to fall and the nights arrive earlier, John invites Alexander to his house for a play date.

Henry is cautious, because his son has never successfully made friends, and he has never heard of the Hamilton family before. And from the (rather poor and unreliable) description from his five-year-old son, he suspects that it is not what he wishes for John. Eleanor, on the other hand, adores the idea instantly, and is already helping John decide what they want to do—should they go out to the park, or the backyard, or should there even be a plan in the first place?

Later that same week, when Eleanor picks John up from school, she asks him where his friend is.

"He stays after school, because his mom works a lot," he says, idly kicking his feet back and forth. "When can Alex come over?"

Eleanor suddenly makes it her personal mission to find out who this woman is. And when the parent-teacher conferences roll by, she runs into the woman in question for the first time. She only knows it because, while walking to the classroom, John slips out of her hands and runs over to a boy standing not too far away from them, walking in a different direction. "Alexander!"

The boy is grungy and thin, as if he does not eat well and does not bathe often. But when John hugs him, his face lights up with absolute glee that she cannot ignore. Eleanor can practically feel the disapproval radiating off of her husband beside her, but she chooses to ignore it for later. This is John's first real friend, and to acknowledge that fact with biased viewpoints would bring nothing but bad experiences for everyone, including their son. After all, that is what matters most of all. So she walks up to the woman beside Alexander, learns her name is Rachel, and the play date is constructed.

"Why did you invite them over?" Henry asks later that night, half-dressed and refusing to face her.

"He's John's friend, Henry," Eleanor whispers, not wanting her son to hear in the next room. "I need to keep that in mind."

x-x-x

John waits by the door and listens for the telltale knock that will announce the arrival of his friend. He jumps from foot to foot, giggling in short bursts, and sliding down the wall to sit on the polished floor and kick his heels together. His father will be upset with him if he scuffs the floor, but he cannot be held back any longer. Eleanor watches his actions with a faint smile as she helps their personal chef prepare snacks for the boys to eat. And when the knock arrives on the door, John is already opening the door before she can get there.

Alexander stands quietly beside his mother, still grungy but much cleaner than he did a few nights before. When he sees John, his face splits in a grin, and the two are holding hands and running up the stairs, leaving the grown-ups behind to talk.

"I'm so happy you came over!" John shouts as he stomps up the stairs. Alex lags slightly behind despite the tug on his wrist, taking in the sights of the wide staircase and the large chandelier that hangs over head. John's family has a lot of money, and it is something he has become accustomed to.

John's first stop on his tour is to his room, where he crosses his bed in order to get to what he wants to show off. Alexander stays in the doorway, staring nervously at his feet. His friend turns back around to gaze at him, his grin in tact.

"Take off your shoes! Come over!"

With the extra boost of encouragement and a smile to match, Alexander hops out of his shoes and scampers over to his friend's side.

"This is my pet turtle, Benson." The shelled animal swims in a large tank beside John's bed. He is a recent edition to the room, a gift for his birthday that he had begged for. A pet turtle was the only thing he wanted.

"Hi, Benson," Alexander waves, stepping so close to the tank that his nose presses against the glass. "I'm Alexander Hamilton."

John hops onto his bed and shows off his next prized possession: a slightly worn stuffed turtle that he hands over to his friend. "Turtles are the best animal ever."

Alexander takes the plush toy in his hands, turning it over multiple times before he stares up at his friend. "Do you like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?"

The beam that stretches across his features is enough of a confirmation.


	2. First Grade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is a lot shorter than the first one? But then again, there wasn't really a lot to do I guess? I dunno, I'm pretty proud with how it turned out!
> 
> This story is gonna shift in terms of POV and stuff. So like every other chapter, it'll switch and stuff. That's why this chapter has more of Alex and less of John. But don't worry, because the future chapters are gonna have more characters, and more shit happening, and there's gonna be a ton of angst, and it's gonna be great. :')
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

Alexander Hamilton is six years old, and already he understands the meaning of the word "struggle." He doesn't know where he was born, but he knows it's in the Caribbean. He understands French, and knows it as well as English, but he can't explain why. He has lived in the United States for only a year, but he doesn't know what caused the move in the first place. His mother Rachel doesn't have time to answer him, and his brother James fails to answer with anything but a snort and a shake of his head. The man that Alexander sees in the mornings before school and no other time, a man he doesn't recognize or remember the identity of, barely looks at him.

Alexander Hamilton is six years old when he finally defines family.

There is never much of a family for him, or at least the idea of one. When he sees John's reaction to his baby brothers or sister or his parents, it's warm and joyous and unrivaled glee. His face lights up, his grin wide and stretching from either ear, curly hair bouncing in each step he makes. Alexander wants that when he comes home, wants to run into his mother's arms and to have fun with his brother, but he never gets the chance to do much of that.

His mother is always working at the store she owns, a type of antique shop for decorating homes. It doesn't do a lot financially, but it gives enough for food and to pay the bills that keep the store running, even if it turns off their water or heat in their house above the store. The people who own the bodega across the street often let the family of three stay over, especially when there's no heat and the boys need a real bathing that doesn't come from a sink. They even make food for them at an especially difficult week, even when Rachel refuses. They never ask for anything in return, for "the friendship and love we receive is enough payment."

Alex sees his mother more often, now that James is thirteen and can run the store on his own. She picks him up from the after-school program and they walk back to the store, chatting about their days. When it gets colder, she takes the bus back to their store, since their excuse for winter clothing isn't appropriate attire for either of them in the cold. He does his homework behind the register and helps his mother by working with the money. He likes to count the change, to feel the smooth green of cash in his hands as he situates it into the respected slots. He learns quickly how to handle it, and he views it as a game of sorts that he plays with himself. His brother teases him for how eager he is to work in their store.

"This is so boring, Alex," James chides, though it is always met with a smile and a soft shove. "You should go play with your friends."

"I don't have any," he says, and it's true. He fights too much with the other kids, whether he's pulling their hair or stealing their crayons or trying to wrestle them to the ground because they were being mean.

"You have John."

That is true, he has John, and he's very happy for it. John Laurens helps him fight the other kids, and gets in just as much trouble, yelling at them when they tell him he's wrong or saying mean things about others because they "heard it from my parents." John is much more physical than Alexander, usually ending up tackling kids to the ground whereas Alex is loud more often than anything, but neither of them seem to mind. He especially likes to fight a kid named Charlie, who once called another kid a mean name and John had kicked him in the side in retaliation. He got his recess time taken away, but Alex sat with him and they played tic-tac-toe, so it wasn't horrible.

John likes the store just as much as Alex does, though he is more fascinated by the knickknacks than anything else. He runs his hands over the typewriter, picks up the old-fashioned telephones to talk into them or spins the dials around. One time, around his third visit, Alex lost him and spent an hour trying to find him, his face tear-strained and his heart broken at the thought of losing his close friend. But he eventually found John, napping under a large quilt in the very back, and Alex, overjoyed and relieved, promptly joined him.

"What does your mom do?" Alex asks one day as he and John color on the sidewalk in front of the store with chalk John has brought over. The customers have taken a great deal of respect in not stepping in their art, and some have even complimented it as they passed. James sits a few feet away, cross-legged and reading a comic book.

John pauses in a moment of thought and then shrugs. "I don't know," he answers. "My mom stays home a lot."

"That's because you guys are super rich and don't have to work for everything," James sneers in a low voice that both boys catch. They stare at him, as if they weren't sure what to make of his statement, but neither respond. Alex understood, as much as a six-year-old could, that John was very, very rich. But John is still a nice person, and he is his best friend, so it doesn't really matter.

"Your mom is really nice," Alex continues as if nothing had been said. "I like her."

"She likes you too," John happily states, and smears his hands on his t-shirt to clear it of chalk. "She said that she's gonna get us a treehouse in the backyard so we have somewhere to hang out."

Alex leaps up at this and scrambles over their artwork to his best friend. "Really?! She'll do that for us?!"

"Yeah! The next time you come over, we're gonna look at stuff to bring in it!"

The two friends continue coloring on the sidewalk until Mrs. Laurens comes by to pick John up, and although her nose crinkles at the sight of their clothes, she still smiles at their art.

"Look, I drew a turtle!" John states proudly, pointing at the animal.

"That looks very nice!" Mrs. Laurens praises, patting her son's curls back from his face.

"I drew the turtle a fish friend, because he looked lonely," Alex adds as he jabs a finger at the orange fish beside the turtle. "So now he has a friend!"

"Do they have names?"

"This is Sabrina," John points to his turtle before he swings over to the fish, "and this is Carlos!"

"Those are very nice names."

It is when John leaves, after he gets his backpack and says his goodbyes, that James sighs and pats his brother's shoulders. It feels almost like he is pitying his younger brother, but for what, Alex isn't sure.

"Enjoy it while you can, Alex," he says. "Someday, he's not gonna wanna see you anymore."

Alexander doesn't understand what it means, but hopes that it never comes true.

x-x-x

It is mid-November when James Hamilton leaves.

Alex remembers it well, because he is sitting behind the counter in his usual spot, this time coloring in a book John had brought over once and told him to keep after he forgot to bring it home. James is kneeling beside him, cleaning the jewelry display underneath the counter. It is more expensive and valuable than the other items, so they keep it behind glass. CNN is playing from the small TV behind them, a usual channel for the brothers to watch or listen in on.

"I wanna be President," Alex states.

James only snorts from his spot. "Sure you do," he chuckles mockingly. "And have everyone in your business all the time? There's so much work that goes into it. You basically lose all privacy." He nods to the television, which is pouring out about a scandal the President is in. "Like Clinton right here. But hey, if you think you can do it, go ahead."

Alex turns to the television, confused. "What did Clinton do?"

"He was with another woman when he should have been with his wife."

"Like for dinner?"

"Not really. It's more than just that."

"Like what?"

Before James can answer, a man storms down the stairs from the back of the store and past the counter, a suitcase in his hand. Alex recognizes him as the man who makes his breakfast in the morning, so his mom can catch up on a few hours of sleep, but who never seems to be around any other time. James, however, is quite startled by his presence and sudden stomping, and goes after him.

"Dad, where are you going?" He asks, his tone rising in fear and alarm when he is ignored, and he goes after him. "Dad?!"

Alex watches the man, unsure if this is his father as well or not. He didn't know he had a dad. He only knew his mom and brother. He doesn't feel any connection with the man storming past them and to the exit.

The man stops to gaze at James, and then at Alexander. He doesn't know what the man sees, if he knows the confusion and wonder going on in his head, but he doesn't ask about it. He walks out the door instead.

James stands from his spot, just a few feet near the door. He looks away to stare at his brother, and he must see it in him, because he is suddenly running to his side and picking him up. Alex cries out in shock at being lifted, but he grabs him either way. He isn't put down until they climb the stairs and emerge into the space they call "home".

Their mother is at the kitchen table, her head in her hands and her body still. She says nothing to either of them, though she must have heard them come up. The stairs are creaky and old, and Alex never liked them, and he can't get it out of his head that the man that left the door could have been his father. He never had the chance to be happy with a dad, and he wishes he will have the chance.

"Will he come back?" He asks. James clutches onto his shoulder, as if to steady himself.

Rachel doesn't answer.

x-x-x

In January, Alexander turns seven.

He spends the day at John's house, because James has to stay after school for tutoring and Rachel is overwhelmed with people selling items to her that she can resell at her own price. If they were there, they would only get in the way, and Mrs. Laurens doesn't hesitate in offering for the boys to stay over at her house for the afternoon. Alex doesn't mind either way.

There is a cupcake with a candle in the shape of a seven sitting on the counter when they arrive, and John sprints upstairs to retrieve his present. Mrs. Laurens ushers Alex into the kitchen and helps him get up onto the island's stool.

"I hope you like cupcakes," she smiles as she lights the wick carefully.

"Are there more?" He asks, spotting the chef putting away cooking supplies. He has had food from their personal chef before, and liked the cake he had for John's birthday in October, so he must enjoy this.

Mrs. Laurens only laughs as John returns, a manila envelope in his hands. He clutches it tightly, but gingerly hands it over to Alexander. "Open it, open it!" He chants.

"Shouldn't we sing first, John?" Mrs. Laurens asks, but Alexander is already tearing the envelope open and taking out what's inside.

It's a picture frame, a deep brown color, that has a hand-drawn picture inside. There are two people on the paper, one with curly hair and dots all over his face, and the other with hair that's jagged over his forehead and at the back of his head, and with dark eyes. They are holding hands, and they stand on top of their names, written in block letters, "JOHN" and "ALEX". An orange house with a red roof is behind them, and a dog sits beside them, with what looks to be a turtle on top of his head.

"Happy Birthday, Alex!" John cries out cheerfully, and leans forward to peck his cheek.

Even though his family by blood may not be what he wants, he knows that John will always be there to fill in the blanks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: John's hair has more tiny curls, since it's not as long. It's like baby curls lmao. For Alex's hair, same thing, but it's extra greasy. :S


End file.
